


Stealing Your Heart

by NixenSya (TheDarkStoryteller)



Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: Blood Kink, Combat Sadomasochism, Death, F/M, Psychopaths In Love, violence kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkStoryteller/pseuds/NixenSya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one else could have her now - he owned her heart, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stealing Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FFN and LJ. For kuraikitsune13 on deviantArt, inspired by one of her deviations.  
> Did a little revision pre-posting, if you see any mistakes please let me know :)

He developed a fascination of sorts - the thing is, he can't stop thinking about  _her_.

Every time he closes his eyes to go to sleep,  _she_  is there - hauntingly beautiful and fierce, sneering and glaring at him with those lime-green eyes, glittering like emeralds (framed by those dark, curvy lashes that he spends more time contemplating than he likes to admit).

His brothers remain ignorant of it all, of course, and he doesn't bother telling them. He knows all too well what they would say; his conscious spends countless hours every day (the ones that weren't occupied by thoughts of  _her)_ telling him all those things.

He can't be bothered with the knowledge that it's stupid, suicidal and probably illegal to think that way about  _her_ , of all people - Butch was never one to follow rules and morals, even his own. Every time he thinks about leaving for some time, letting his  _fascination_ simmer down a little, her image invades her mind (not letting him think about anything other than her red, red lips and milky, soft skin littered with back and blue bruises and those delightfully sharp, white teeth that sometimes would bite him if she was sufficiently pissed off).

He finds himself loving those fights they have more than he ever did before as she brutally smashes his head against the unforgiving cement (that beautiful, superior, victorious smirk present in those bloody, bruised,  _perfect_  lips of hers that he yearned to make even more bruised and bloody) with her lithe, muscular legs straddling his stomach as she did so.

He loves it when he irks her to a point she'll hit her hardest (no holding back like she did at times, when she thought the villain or the monster of the day couldn't handle it), punching and kicking and eyebeaming him and throwing hard, big, heavy stuff at him, doing her best to spill his and her blood (their mixed blood and Chemical X, leaving all those pretty patterns on the walls and on the floor and on the ceiling that were almost as beautiful as her).

He kisses her once; they are both bruised and bloody and sweaty (he had never thought she could look any more stunning and desirable as she did in that moment, red cheeks and broken bones and bleeding mouth and black eye) and he snarls at her and smashes their lips together (teeth clashing and wounds stinging but it was so perfect, so  _them_ , and he wouldn't trade it for any other).

She punches him, of course, but he remembers those first moments in which she actually, truthfully kissed him back and it's enough for him.

She flies away in rage, her green streak dividing the sky (really, he didn't expect anything less of her, though he had been hoping for some more violence and perhaps even some angry sex, even though he knows it's just wishful thinking on his part) and he never knows if she heard his softly spoken words.

 _I want to steal your heart_.

She doesn't suspect anything when no guy makes any move to approach her (he figures she's used to being the ignored sister, the one people don't think about; the one that isn't considered smart or pretty or lady-like, though Butch thinks that the other girls can't even begin to measure up to her) and he has his hands full as he makes sure that no guy will ever try to steal her away from him (because she's  _his,_  dammit, and  _his_  only and no one else's, and he be damned if he lets someone else steal her heart before he does).

She notices that he's been lurking around more than usual but she doesn't question him like she would have done a few weeks ago, ignoring him instead as she tries not to lift her hand to caress her lips, still feeling his hot mouth against hers (and his heavy breathing and his green eyes piercing into hers and his strong arms holding her, not wanting to let go).

The next time they fight, he does his best to stop his brothers and her sisters from seeing that he isn't in a bloodthirsty mood for once (he just really wants to pin her up against a wall and have his way with her, his sweet, fierce Buttercup writhing and growling and clawing at him, against him, her petite, supple body against his tall frame).

He twitches psychotically when he is senses confrontation anyway, and no one but her notices a thing, because he now twitches because he wants her (her, her, the ferocious little Buttercup that isn't nearly as sweet and innocent as she wants the others to believe) and not just because he earns for her destruction.

_I want it. I want your heart, Buttercup._

A boy with brown hair doesn't heed his warnings, though, and approaches her and asks her out (and she, even though she belongs to him only, accepts) and he follows them with jealous green eyes and vows for retribution. The next day, the boy is dead, guts and blood and brain splattered on the sidewalk in front of their school (because the others need to see that her heart was already owned, even if she didn't know it yet).

_Your heart belongs to me, Buttercup. Only me._

She starts paying more attention to her surroundings and she always seems to sense when he is around (he already had to hide a few times; his Buttercup is getting sharper, cleverer). She always takes a look around when she enters her house, her eyes seem to shift in his direction when she goes outside during school hours (she always seems to know where he is, just as he notices that little piece of darkness inside her that no one else does - pure, untainted Buttercup that longs for violence and blood just as much as he does).

She manages to catch him one time and confronts him without any words (because they don't need words, they're Butch and Buttercup, Buttercup and Butch, and there's no space for insignificant words between them), jade eyes piercing into him and making him shudder in all kinds of right and wrong ways (it really depends on the point of view, but he thinks that it's all the same, anyway).

He kisses her again and throws her against a wall, bruising her mouth with his (her blood trickles into the pavement in warm rivulets and he desperately yearns to taste it on his tongue) and she groans in something that isn't entirely pain, but he doesn't want to get his hopes up too soon.

Her warmth and the taste of her lips and tongue (and of her blood, metallic and powerful and full of life) intoxicate him beyond belief, and the world tilts and whirls and blurs as he kisses her and she kisses him back and her razor-sharp teeth bite the junction between his neck and shoulder (he never felt anything like this before, he wonders if this is what 'heaven' feels like).

His rough hands grip her waist (and he knows that she'll have marks by tomorrow, and that's good because they're there to prove that she's his) and their hips slide together and the friction between their bodies is perfection and he never wants it to end.

 _I want to steal your heart,_  he says, his eyes meeting hers while they frantically try to catch their breath.

She looks beautiful under the moonlight (a drop of crimson blood running down the side of her face, hooded eyes and bruised scarlet lips and she's so beautiful, so stunning, so  _perfect_ ) and she solemnly studies his face for a moment before she replies.

_Take it, then._

He does.

He finally holds Buttercup's heart in his hands (so hot and sleek and shiny, he can almost feel it still pumping), crimson blood and Chemical X coating his arms and his clothes and the ground and her body. Her lifeless body, still warm, lies in his arms with a content smile in her bloodied lips (perfect, perfect, so  _perfect_ ) and a hole in her chest from where he ripped the precious organ out.

He has her heart, at last.

It's his.  _She_ is finally his.

No one will ever take her from him.

He owns her heart, after all.


End file.
